


Lip Service Via Letters

by lily_zen



Category: Malice Mizer
Genre: Angst, Drama, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:43:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_zen/pseuds/lily_zen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mana and Kozi correspond after the band break-up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lip Service Via Letters

Lip Service Via Letters

|Part I| Longing

 

Band: Malice Mizer

Pairing: Mana x Kozi

Rating: PG-13

Archive: Ask

 

By: Lily Zen

 

Disclaimer: Not mine.

 

*

 

_Dear Kozi—_

_I know you’re probably wondering why I mailed you while you were on tour. But please do remember that you left your itinerary with me ‘in case the need should arise to contact you.’ Well, after much debate I decided that yes, there was need._

_This is going to sound oddly sentimental coming from me, but I miss you. Off in Europe, having your tour with Eve of Destiny; but the way, how is Haruhiku? You must be having a grand time there, Kozi; you always do love to travel so, and I know it has to be exciting for you to be seeing Europe. I wish we could have done something like that back with Malice Mizer. It would have been fun._

_By the way, I received the copy of your single which you sent. Very nice, indeed, Kozi! It’s you through and through! I’m still deciding which tracks I like the best though. All of them are wonderful for different reasons—your compositions are still as unique and varied as they always were. For some reason though, Honey Vanity sticks out in my mind. Your voice sounds particularly wonderful in there—I always told you that your voice was gorgeous._

_Ah, but here I am, rambling on when I’m sure you have things you need to do. Anyway, know that my thoughts are with you. When you return to Japan, you’ll have to tell me all about it._

_Yours forever,_

# Mana

*

 

Putting down the pen, he sat back from the desk and surveyed his work. It didn’t seem terribly off kilter or uncharacteristic, the guitarist thought to himself, rereading his words once more. “Mana, Mana, Mana, getting sentimental in your old age, aren’t you?” he chided himself, shaking his head slowly. The black braid trailing down his back snaked with the movement, rasping against the cotton t-shirt he was wearing.

 

Slowly, deliberately, he took out an envelope, folded the letter, and placed it inside. He addressed the front to ‘Cherry Kozi’; an older nickname Mana had given him once upon a time. Kozi was sure to know who it was then. With careful hands, he sealed the envelope and stamped it. It was bound for Germany, where Eve of Destiny was staying for a bit.

 

Mana took it out to the mailbox immediately, not wanting to misplace or forget about it. There should be no delaying. Walking back inside the house, he couldn’t have honestly said what had prompted him to write such a pointless greeting; it served no purpose at all. However, the loneliness that clawed at him while Kozi was away served to be a powerful force.

 

“I shouldn’t be lonely though,” he mumbled to himself as he was closing the front door. After all, he had scores of adoring fans, publicists, managers, and even band mates all vying for his attention, his ideas, his approval. Maybe that was a part of it though—everyone wanted something from him. Not Kozi though. Kozi would come over and sit on his couch and they would watch old horror movies and drink beer and eat salty popcorn—Kozi never demanded any more than that; his presence.

 

After a long day spent in the studio, it was sweet relief to be around Kozi, a balm on his nerves, strung tight as a guitar string. More than that though, it was his smile and his conversation and his intellect and his playfulness and his affection, and sometimes it was even his sensuality. Those were only the beginning of his list of reasons for missing Kozi. The guitarist could have gone on and on about his once-band mate, now strictly friend.

 

Having long since come to terms with the chemistry that existed between them, on more than one level, Mana had resigned himself to being just friends. First it was the band, Malice Mizer, and then it was merely the fear of disturbing the peaceful balance that existed between them. After all, if you held the two in your hand, which mattered more: friendship or lust? The answer was obvious, at least to the guitarist.

 

So he merely settled into the ebb and tide of the lust riding within him and built up barriers to hold it in. Of course, he’d had other lovers since then—Gackt, although that was short lived and bittersweet, Gackt’s band mate, Masa—don’t ask—and even Kaya of his own now-disbanding project, Schwarz Stein. Then of course there were the numerous females who lurked about, all trying to get a piece of his transvestite ass. Still, all his love affairs were emotionless, and seemed to turn into tawdry shams, thus he often ended them before they truly got started.

 

The only things Mana truly had in his life were his friends, his music, and his career. Oh, and his guitars, especially Jeune Fille, who belonged in a category of its own. Needless to say the guitarist of Moi dix mois coveted these things and guarded them jealously—hell hath no fury like a possessive crossdresser.

 

Noting the time, he slowly made his way around the house, tidying up as he went and getting ready. He had quite a few things to do at the studio today and no time to waste. He’d dawdled enough with Kozi’s letter.

 

Once more putting on his Mana-the-Untouchable face, he tried to forget about his loneliness and his longing and instead lose himself in the day-to-day grind. However, if he couldn’t forget, he’d settle for pushing it to the back of his mind.

 

*

 

|Part II| Response

 

Kozi traipsed back into the hotel during the late evening, stopping at the front desk to see if he had any messages. It was a little difficult communicating in Germany, as his only language was Japanese, but most of the time he managed to get by. The front desk attendant handed him a post-it from Haruhiku, saying that he was going out shopping and would be back later, and a small white envelope from Japan, addressed to a ‘Cherry Kozi’. He knew instinctively who it was, as he was sure the writer had planned, and fought the urge to smile.

 

It wasn’t usually in Mana’s tastes to write while he was out of town. In fact, he usually never contacted Kozi at all while he was traveling. It was odd that he should choose now to start, but odd in a pleasant way.

 

Making his way back up to his room, the redheaded guitarist unlaced his boots as soon as he got in the room and set them off to the side neatly, before flopping on the unmade hotel bed and practically tearing the envelope open to get at its contents. Inside was a single piece of cream stationary paper with the blue fleur dis lis border that Mana seemed to favor. Poring over the contents of the letter, Kozi was surprised at its simplicity, its almost-rambling, mundane tone. That wasn’t Mana at all.

 

The Mana he knew was single-minded, determined, and focused on business all the way. Of course the Mana that joined him on the weekends for horror film matinees couldn’t be described that way at all. Sure, he was still intent and focused on whatever he was doing, but he was much more relaxed then. Thinking on that, he decided the letter did sound like Mana…just not the dominant side of his personality.

 

Rereading the letter another three times, Kozi was stunned at the pang of homesickness that swept through him—fast and sure as the blade of a knife. He missed Japan—its food, its stores, and its people. He longed for the comfort of sleeping in his own bed and cooking ramen on his stovetop. More than all that though, was the desire to be watching horror films—classic and recent, good and bad—in Mana’s living room, snacking on salty popcorn and beer.

 

He hated to admit it, but it was a longing that wasn’t altogether infrequent for him. Mana was one of his closest friends—his compadre, his amigo, his fucking other half—but not necessarily better. Mana was known to have his own bouts of perverted amusement. Mana was a large part of his life, both past and present, and it was unthinkable that they should ever be parted.

 

Sliding halfway off the bed, the guitarist reached for his bag, and the notebook that lay inside. Picking up the pen on the dresser, courtesy of the hotel, and turned to a blank page. It wasn’t as nice as Mana’s stationary, but it would do. Then, fueled by his own longing to be home again, he wrote.

 

_Dear Mana-chan,_

_Haha, I know you hate that nickname, but I just can’t help it._

_I miss you too, Mana. Don’t worry though, the mini-tour is over in a couple days. We have one more show to play, then I’m on my way home. Your house will be the first place I stop, okay? I’ll even bring An American Werewolf, and An American Werewolf in Paris on DVD. You haven’t seen them already, have you? They’re good movies, I swear._

_I’m glad you like the single. I like the way it turned out too. I think I’ll be doing a bit more singing from now on, although in no way will I be becoming the next Gackt—sorry, Gakuto, you know I like you, but I can’t stand your music…or at least the extra pop stuff. Some songs are okay, don’t you agree, Mana?_

_And when I get home, prepare to have your ears talked off. However, by the time you get this, I’ll probably already be there! Damn shitty-ass postal service…_

_Love you,_

# Kozi

 

*

 

|Part III| Delivery

 

Mana’s weeks had passed without a word from Kozi. He kept thinking to himself, maybe he’d gotten the itinerary wrong, or maybe Eve of Destiny had to switch hotels. Then there were the other doubts like maybe Kozi didn’t want to respond back. That was ludicrous though—Kozi and he were friends, the very best of.

 

It was Saturday night, and he was laying on his couch in sweatpants and a t-shirt, flipping through the channels on the television half-heartedly. Off work until Monday, the guitarist simply had nothing better to do. Sure, he could have found someone to go out to dinner with or something along those lines. Something prevented him from doing that though, something inside him that said Saturday nights belonged to Kozi.

 

Without Kozi there to share them with him, Mana merely found himself without purpose, lost until Sunday morning. Then he’d be able to find the steam somewhere within himself to go do the necessary shopping, and some not necessary shopping, that the busy guitarist usually didn’t have time for.

 

That was the good thing about wearing drag every time he went on camera, the guitarist thought to himself—he could simply go out in public without any make-up on and wearing what qualified as ‘normal’ clothes, and hardly anyone would look twice at him. Incognito, almost. Kozi had always said it was kind of a backwards disguise—wear the mask all the time, then when you don’t want to be noticed, take it off.

 

An older movie flashed on the screen, and automatically Mana flipped the channel back to it. _Gone With the Wind_ done in subtitles. The heroine, Scarlet, was running down the stairs, calling after her husband, Rhett. However, he just kept on going, leaving her there, sobbing pitifully. He’d seen the film before though, and knew that she’d been quite the little bitch to him throughout the whole movie. Still, the scene struck a chord with him, and he sympathized with Scarlet—being left alone after so many years of relying on other people to support her.

 

Reaching next to the couch, he pulled a tissue from its box and delicately dabbed at his eyes and blew his nose. Quickly changing the channel before he started to cry again, Mana found nothing else on television that interested him. Deciding it was time for a snack, he walked into the kitchen.

 

Automatically, the guitarist walked to the cupboard that the popcorn was kept in, and he frowned, shaking his head and practically wrenching himself away. Instead he got out a package of instant ramen, not feeling like making a big production of things anyway. Just as he was putting some water in a pot to boil, the doorbell rang.

 

Cursing whomever thought it necessary to disturb him at this absurd hour, Mana slammed down the pot on the counter, water splashing over the rim. Walking through the house with quick, angry steps, he reached the front door in record time. “What do you wan—“ he flung open the door, practically yelling, and stopped abruptly when he looked at the person on his doorstep. All of the anger went out of him in an audible whoosh, and the breath as well. Whispering, Mana stated one thing: “Kozi.”

 

The redhead was standing on his doorstep, holding in one hand his travel bags and in the other a pile of…envelopes? “Mana-chan!” Kozi practically squealed, dropping his bags and reaching out with both arms to pull the stunned man into a hug. He kept the mail in his hands though, Mana noted, probably so that it wouldn’t fly away. Moving stiffly at first, Mana hugged the other guitarist to him, then with more enthusiasm and gradual tightening as he realized that indeed, Kozi was there in front of him, in the flesh.

 

Then they were separating, both with light flushes on their cheeks. They’d held the hug for longer than necessary, longer than was considered acceptable for male friends—Mana was embarrassed and hoped that Kozi hadn’t noticed his clinginess too terribly. However, when the guitarist looked up, he noted that the redhead was looking at him severely. “Mana,” he began in his stern tone of voice, and he worried that he’d seriously offended his friend, “You forgot to check your mail today.” He held up the pile in his hands. On the top was an envelope from Germany, completely covered in little doodles, courtesy of the very person standing before him.

 

Mana took the package with a feeling akin to awe, and Kozi noticed how his hands trembled slightly. He stayed silent though for fear of upsetting Mana’s sense of male pride. Looking up at the redhead, Mana invited him inside.

 

Kozi walked through the small home—a familiar place to him—and ended up in the living room. He went to put on the movie while Mana went to make popcorn. When he returned, he sat on the couch next to Kozi, the large bowl cradled between them. Every time their hands brushed, an electric trill of excitement would shoot up each one’s spine. It was like being on a date in high school.

 

Finally, when Mana couldn’t take it anymore, he shoved the bowl into Kozi’s lap and crawled over. Curling himself up next to the other guitarist, he rested his head on Kozi’s shoulder. Turning his face towards the smooth neck, he inhaled the scent that was uniquely Kozi, and felt something in him relax. Quietly, Mana confessed, “I missed you.” ‘I love you’ was what he thought and meant to say, but could not find the courage to express it.

 

Kozi turned his head away from the movie he’d only been paying a cursory amount of attention to. He had a sad little smile on his face, somewhere between pain and happiness. He wondered not for the first time if perhaps every time Mana said ‘I missed you’ he really meant ‘I love you’—it was certainly the truth for him. His hand rose up of its own volition, cupping Mana’s jaw and tilting his face up. Leaning down, he gently kissed his long-time friend on the lips—chaste and innocent.

 

The dark haired guitarist gave a little mewl of pleasure, and anxiously pressed himself closer. He rose on his knees and wrapped his arms around the back of Kozi’s head, unable to believe it was truly happening. Parting his lips, he delicately traced his tongue along the guitarist’s lower lip. Like magic, Kozi opened to him, and their tongues played together, exploring each other’s mouths for the first time.

 

Kozi pulled away, on the verge of tears, and stated, “I missed you too.” Mana smiled resplendently and they kissed again—a silent promise, a wordless declaration. ‘We’ll always be together.’

 

-FIN-

 


End file.
